


Let It Snow

by pendragonfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Fluff, Gender unspecified reader, Hanukkah, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Jewish Bruce Banner, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Cassie Lang, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Identity, Jewish May Parker, Jewish Peter Parker, Jewish Pietro Maximoff, Jewish Scott Lang, Jewish Wanda Maximoff, M/M, No pronouns used for Reader, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, everyone is jewish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendragonfics/pseuds/pendragonfics
Summary: He hasn't celebrated Channuka in over fifty years, but then you come along...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Let It Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zebracakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebracakes/gifts).



> ATTENTION EVERYONE! 
> 
> Before we get to the fic, I need to tell you all something. I am **not** Jewish. I'm goy, raised in a Catholic household but I'm _not_ Christian. I left that life behind. I also want you to know that I researched a whole lot for this fic, and I just want to tell you all that if I messed up, it's on me, and I'll do my best to rectify it. I really appreciate Judaism, and I wanted to write a holiday fic for Bucky Barnes featuring himself as an openly Jewish man. 
> 
> Okay, now you can read on. Roast me in the comments if I butchered anything xx

No matter what year it is, be it the 20th or 21st century, Bucky agrees with anyone who listens that winters in New York City are the best time of year. Sure, there’s the ice on the sidewalk, longer lines for themed coffees at Starbucks and loads of Christmas bullshit. Last Chanukah, he grumbled openly about all those things, but if truth be told, Bucky missed the feeling.

The feeling of a proper Chanukah. Like the ones he remembered back when he was keeping a roof over his sisters’ heads, and celebrating with Stevie, back when he was thinner than a dollar bill. Then there was the last time he celebrated with Steve, before the war...that December, he hadn’t known it would be the last time he lit the menorah, but with everything else that happened, with HYDRA, the bullshit he went through, and then the endless psych evals in the aftermath from it all, it had been years since he had even thought of going back to his heritage.

No, last winter was certainly the last time he ever felt the need for being sour in the face of everyone’s merriment. Mainly because that was just after the time he had been finally sanctioned by the Avengers’ medical consultants as fit for duty. But mostly, because, he met you.

Bucky remembered first seeing you, clear as day. Bucky was out with Steve for groceries for the Avengers’ end-of-year mixer, and you were in front of the hummus in the deli section. You were a mix of beauty and rage; gorgeous features pulled into a fury as you fought a mugger over your purse. He was going to intervene, but he watched you, a civilian, took on the would-be-thief with a left hook.

It turned out you were Steve’s friend from the Smithsonian - “I didn’t curate it, but I’m studying the field, with a speciality in world war two” - and as soon as he met you, Bucky would admit that he was head over toes into you.

But that was last Chanukah when he chatted you up over apple cider in the Tower. Six months later, you asked him out (much to Bucky’s own surprise - but mostly because he’d been itching to ask you first), and now...it was the damned holiday season once more.

But that was okay.

Instead of making a big deal about your own background, Bucky watched as you placed your own traditions on the backburner for him.

"I'm not really into the whole mainstream Christmas stuff," you said to him one November night over a beer. "I was raised anti-capitalist, if anything, so don't expect some big present from me."

"Actually," Bucky heard himself say, "I'm Jewish. Well, born, raised...I haven't celebrated in a while, but..."

"How long is a while?"

"Fifty years?" he replied. "Give or take."

"Oh! Well, don't say a word, I'm organising it all. You're gonna meet my friends, they're Chanukah nuts. They celebrate with an open-door policy; wait, do you know Scott? We go way back, actually to college -," Bucky he zoned out at that point, either from the beers or the shock. But Bucky would say that it was a good shock (if there was one).

It was what led him to tonight.

It turned out that Bucky did know Scott. It was skinny Scott, the guy who he met in Germany who turned into a tiny or huge version of himself. Ant-Man. He didn't want to sound old, but it seemed like the heroes these days were getting crazier as time went by. But with you, he went to Scott Lang's new house for dinner. Before eating, Bucky helped his kid, Cassie fold napkins, and by the time that it was to eat, a few other heroes turned up.

Wanda and Pietro, the twins from the team came, along with their latkes, Bruce Banner and his girlfriend Betty Ross, as well as the kid Peter Parker, and his aunt who made enough food to make the table groan. He sat on the couch after the meal, watching as Wanda recounted stories, and Cassie and Peter played with a homemade dreidl. He hadn't realised you weren't in the living room until he heard the sound coming from the kitchen, the sound of singing.

Leaving Pietro to talk off Betty's ear, he approached the sound as delicately as he could, but the floorboards gave him away. As soon as he was in the doorway, he saw you look up at him, bright pink and yellow washing up gloves contrasting with your top.

"Sorry I interrupted -," he began.

"God, was I being too loud? Did anyone else hear me?" you asked him, self-consciously.

He shook his head, the hair coming into his eyes a little. He sorely needed a haircut, and huffing, Bucky tried to blow it out of the way. But even with the gloves on, he watched as you stroked the hairs back into place, looking just that little bit sad.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

You busied yourself with the remainder of the dishes, and Bucky watched as your shoulders tensed up, telling him something that he'd never heard about you before.

"I remember before my Mom died, having times like this in our house. It was neat, and we'd all play dreidl like the kids are out there. But then she...she uh, passed. Cancer. I was like, eight? My dad got really grouchy after that, and we never did anything we did with her at home again."

Bucky hesitates, placing his metal hand upon your shoulder. "My Mom died pretty early too. My Dad, too. That's why back then, I fought tooth and nail to make my sisters have a good Chanukah."

"Same hat," you chuckled.

"Same hat," he replied. "That song...is that?"

"Mom used to sing it. I'm guessing yours did too?"

Bucky nodded, and let his hand move from your shoulder, to rest on your waist. He moved behind you, and rested his head upon your shoulder, holding you close like you were just a pair of slow dancers in a dance hall in the 40s, swaying to a song that wasn't playing in anyone's ears but your own. For a second, it felt right. But that was until Bucky and you were interrupted by Scott waltzing in - quite literally - with Peter's Aunt May. After that, you surrendered the washing up gloves, and Bucky said his goodbyes to the other heroes - Bruce as leaving early too; Betty had a few PhD papers to grade before the end of the year - and took an Uber to Bucky's apartment.

It wasn't big, but it was his. Since your lease had ended two weeks ago, you had decided to live with Bucky, to which he was immensely grateful. But it wasn't for the cooking or cleaning, or the history books of yours that were often left around that he read, the fact that he read. He liked you. Loved, even. If he was asked, he'd say that, after the events of the night's emotional vulnerability - but not that anyone would ask him of that just yet. It was still just six months into dating you, and he didn't want to scare you away with his intense feelings. But living together, Bucky hoped you felt the same as he did.

But now, very full of brisket, he crashed upon the couch with you, barely able to pull a blanket from on top of the seat onto your shared laps. It wasn't late in the evening, nor early, but looking to you, wordlessly, the pair of you communicated plans to watch the rest of the season of Nailed It on Netflix and eat a pint of ice cream together.

"Oh, you read my mind!" you groaned, sinking into the couch a second time, already a spoonful in on the chocolate ice cream. "God, I love you."

For a second, he wasn't sure what to make of it. I love you. But as soon as that feeling came, it passed, and he grabbed a spoon from your hand, kissed your cheek, and pressed play on the remote. "I love you too, doll."

"Happy Chanukah, you dork."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr on as @chaotic--lovely, and if you want to request a fic, check out [@pendragonfics](https://pendragonfics.tumblr.com/request_conditions)! ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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